


Frost From Our Bones

by Trobadora



Category: Original Work
Genre: Captivity, Dragons, F/F, Interspecies Relationship, Loyalty, Multi, Threesome - F/F/F, genre: fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 20:27:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9288356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trobadora/pseuds/Trobadora
Summary: When Princess Luin is stolen by a dragon, Lady Skir knows exactly what to do:Rescue the princess. Kill the dragon. Marry the princess.Unfortunately, neither the dragon nor the princess are following her script.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [silveradept](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silveradept/gifts).



Lady Skir kept sharpening her sword, but her attention was on the doorway. She had expected the call before now, and it still had not come. True, Sir Kell had not yet arrived, and the king would want him present. But the Princess needed them _now_.

Skir continued her work, tense and distracted, desperate to spring into action as she considered the situation once again. No one but the king himself had seen the dragon's shadow in the sky, sweeping away from the castle, but the court and the entire city were talking about nothing else. It had happened again - a princess had been taken. 

Luin was the king's only heir, too, and a worthy queen-to-be she was, smart and perceptive, well in favour with nobles and guards and the people of the land alike. Lady Skir had had the honour to guard her on several of her journeys through the realm, and the thought of that vivid, sharp-eyed woman in a dragon's claws turned her stomach.

She shook her head, then tucked back a strand of red hair that had escaped from her braid and ran the whetstone along the steel once more. But the chill that had settled in her bones when she'd heard the news would not go away.

Lady Skir had always loved the stories, the depictions. The famous tapestry in the Blue Hall, the mural in the Eastern Colonnade, the paintings hung on various walls, the bards' songs - they had always captured her imagination. Princess Luin had smiled at her for it, but she couldn't help it: the fierce dragon, beautiful and deadly; the valiant knight; the bound princess. The triumphant slaying. The freed princess, made queen. It spoke to her.

Yet it was different, now that it was Luin who had been taken. If only the king would call!

  


* * *

  


The king received them in the Blue Hall where the tapestry of Sir Athe and the Dragon hung. With effort, Skir strode in calmly beside her fellow knights, giving away none of the tension shivering under her armour, not letting her eyes stray to the familiar display. It stood in front of her mind's eye nonetheless: the valiant knight slaying the dread Myrndnir as Princess Aen watched on, bound to a rock. 

The king was not of Aen's own line, but of her father's, being descended from Aen's younger brother. Yet it was his line's history, all the same. And his line's curse had struck once again.

Now, finally, his three best knights were kneeling before him. More would be called after them, no doubt, but they were to be the first, and they were ready to hear his words.

 _More than ready,_ Skir thought harshly. Too much time had already been lost.

He addressed the oldest of them first, his favoured knight and trusted advisor. "Rise, Sir Kell." 

Lady Skir watched from the corners of her eyes as Sir Kell stood, bowing deeply, his shaven face attentive and calm. She tried to imagine him by Princess Luin's side, and could not quite see it. Kell was her father's man, not Luin's, and Luin's knight should serve her first, shouldn't he? Though if he saved her from the dragon, brought her home safely, no doubt it would bind them together.

Skir blinked, calling herself back to the present as the king's voice sounded again. "Rise, Sir Hize." 

Hize, younger than Kell, about Skir's own age, bowed deeply as well, and unlike Kell's, his face betrayed excitement. He was a brave fighter and an honourable man, and she had fought side by side with him several times. A good man to have at her back. Yet his pride was in his sword, not in his service. For Princess Luin, Skir could wish for more.

Then it was her turn. "Rise, Lady Skir." 

She bowed, trying her best to show nothing but calm confidence. Of the three of them, she was the only one who had actually served Princess Luin herself, and she would serve her again now, would be the one to bring her home. Then Princess Luin would look at her with a smile in her dark eyes, and she would kneel before her and pledge herself -

The king was speaking again. "You are aware of the great sorrow that has come over the realm, the beast that has taken Princess Luin." He looked at them steadily for a moment, waiting. Lady Skir was the first to bow, giving the acknowledgement the king expected, and one by one, Kell and Hize followed. Not that they could have failed to be aware, but this was a formal announcement. "Go you, and search," the king commanded. "And whosoever of you slays the dragon and brings back the princess, shall have my daughter's hand in marriage."

Lady Skir had known the words would come - it was the tradition, after all - yet part of her still exulted at hearing them. The dragon, all power and death ... for her to meet. For her to defeat.

And Luin's face stood before her, eyes beseeching, her usual calm covering deep distress. _I will not fail you, my princess_ , Skir vowed. _I am coming for you, I swear._

  


* * *

  


It was a long, quiet ride to the north. For many miles, the three of them travelled together, few words passing between them. They shared a goal, yet they were also rivals, and there was little to talk about.

It gave Skir much time for chilling thought. What might a dragon want with a princess? No one had ever known. Yet in near every generation, a maiden of the royal line was taken. Those who returned - like the famous Aen, who had been saved by Sir Athe - had never spoken of their captivity. How must it be, to be held by such a beast, to be in its power entirely? Skir shivered. 

Some said it meant to eat whomever it took, but, Lady Skir thought, a single woman every few decades seemed a scarce and starving diet for a dragon. If it wanted food, surely it would find easier prey.

Some had more vile ideas of what a dragon might want with a maiden, but again, Skir could see no reason another woman might not serve. Yet it had only ever been the royal line that had carried this curse. Still, the thought of Luin, like that -

Skir shifted in her saddle, then adjusted her sword belt. She cast her eyes around, studied the landscape before them. Already it had changed, the plains turned into hills and valleys, and the distant mountains were an almost ethereal white-and-grey wall at the horizon. It might not matter why. Without knowing why, Athe had still rescued Aen, after all, and there was no reason she might not do the same.

  


* * *

  


Dragons always came from the mountains. But where to turn?

The northern mountain range was nothing like the southern mountains Skir's family called their home. It rose far higher, vast and cold, few habitable valleys sheltering between their peaks. Few people ventured higher up, and fewer crossed the mountains altogether, for behind them lay only the wild Northern Sea, which bordered no countries of any note. It was wild land, out there.

"I will go east," said Sir Kell. "The valley of Chamar is one of the highest, and if the dragon is anywhere near, the villagers there will know."

"I shall take the road to Mount Zillith," Sir Hize decided. To the west, high up on the slopes of Mount Zillith stood the Monastery of the Sainted Lights, and Skir agreed - its inhabitants would surely know where in these mountains such a creature as a dragon might be found. If it was to be found.

"I will continue ahead," said Lady Skir. She didn't explain herself, and neither Kell nor Hize asked.

Skir looked up at the snow-covered peaks and followed the road ahead, upwards, until it turned into a path, and then barely that. By that time she had climbed high, and had covered herself in furs and wool and heavy, padded boots which nonetheless were never warm enough. Soon she had left her horse behind and was carrying ice pick and rope. Skir had questioned everyone in the few tiny mountain villages and the rare isolated farmhouses she had come across, but had refused a guide toward Echeron Pass.

It was the only one, she'd been told, that might be passable at this time of year.

For she had thought to herself: the mountains were vast, and Princess Luin only one person. But whatever a dragon might want with a princess, it was a creature of wings and flight. Its magnificence would not bear hiding. If it would fly free and never be seen, might it not do so on the other side of these mountains, where no people lived? Where no villagers or monks could betray it to the knights that were sure to come?

Dragons, after all, were clever beasts.

  


* * *

  


Echeron Pass, with winter approaching, was a deadly place of howling winds and implacable ice, of solid rock and treacherous snow that were near indistinguishable from each other. Yet Skir was a child of the southern mountains, and had known passes nearly as hostile as this in deep winter, though they were pleasant enough come summer. She was determined, and she knew the mountains, and the cold.

  


* * *

  


It opened out before her: a vast scope of landscape, snowy mountains and hills, and a deep-cut valley ahead through which she could see all the way to the distant grey roll of the Northern Sea. Lady Skir looked about herself. Where to turn now?

No princess, no human at all could survive in these icy wastes, even with a hearth and sheltering walls. And the princess would have none of these things, not so much as adequate clothing, even. There was no wood to turn into fire. There were no plants at all, and the few animals that braved these heights could not possibly offer sustenance enough.

Skir turned her feet toward the downwards path, which might even be a path if the snow and the ice ever melted to make it visible. She could see where it must go, though, and followed it along, anticipation shivering in her limbs. Soon, now, she thought. She would face the dragon, finally. Would see it for herself in all its glory, and then slay it. Very soon.

_Luin, I am coming for you._

  


* * *

  


Skir descended, and descended. The mountainside never seemed to end. Finally there were trees, low scraggly things that they were, though snow still covered the land. She still had travel rations sufficient to last her a while, but it comforted her to know their inner bark was edible if necessary. She took out her fire-kit and made a small fire, careful not to let too much smoke rise. A hot drink fortified her, and she was glad of the flame, though it could not warm her enough.

The wind was harsher on this side of the pass, and occasionally a gust would blow fresh snow in her face so strongly that she had to pause in the shelter of a rock or a tree to wipe it from her skin before she could catch her breath.

She never knew from where, or why then, but it was with such a gust that the dragon came.

Suddenly it was before her, swooping down from behind a rocky protrusion, large and white and scaly, with fangs and claws and hot air steaming from its mouth, and Skir gasped at the sight. 

White: of course she'd known dragons were white. All the depictions showed it. But now she could see why. In the snow, unlike a colourful tapestry or mural, it was nearly invisible. It was made for this environment, Lady Skir realised - this was its natural home.

It wasn't a pure white, just as the snow was not, save where it was freshly fallen. On looking more closely, Skir could see the blue hue on its scales, the grey undertones on the edges.

She had always thought dragons were beautiful.

The beast landed, taking up much of what little level ground there was, and hissed at her. A terrifying power, and a fierce beauty. Skir's heart beat faster, and the glow of battle began to rise in her chest. 

Destroying this gorgeous creature would almost be a shame. But pitting herself against that glory and prevailing - that was something worthy of her time. And even more so for Princess Luin's sake.

Luin, lovely and controlled and at home at court, skilled with words and insights - how could she survive such a beast? Skir's heart clenched. Then she chided herself for the thought. Warrior she was not, but Princess Luin was not a woman who easily gave up. Where Aen had lived - and she had, after all - Luin would find a way as well.

Skir would see her again.

"You stole the princess!" Skir called out, raising her sword. "Meet my challenge, beast!"

The dragon's long neck stretched towards her, and it screeched. The sound nearly deafened Skir.

"Stole her, did I?" the dragon said then, its voice deep and chilled like a crevice in the ice, piercing through the ringing in Skir's ears. "What's to stop me from stealing you too, sword-woman?"

Skir was stunned for several moments. She'd not expected the beast to _mock_ , of all things. A smart beast, this: even more glorious than she had thought. Skir broke into a delighted grin.

"You can try," she called back, ducking under the dragon's head, aiming her sword for the vulnerable place where neck met torso.

The dragon, with more agility than its size suggested, twisted away. One of its claws swiped toward Skir, and she barely managed to evade it by rolling to the side, away from the sheer drop of the cliff to her right. But her sword was in her hand, and she had only just started.

"Where is the princess?" she demanded, feinting, then tried for the dragon's wing this time. It batted her away, almost casually, nearly rattling the sword from her grip as she lost her footing on the treacherous ground and slid further down the slope. 

Several engagements later, Skir crashed hard onto her back as she botched her fall, knocking the wind out of herself and the sword from her cold-stiff hand. Gasping, muscles aching, she rolled over, snatched it back up and got on her feet again, ducking behind a large rock, then under an overhang by the cliffside, the ground falling away into rocky depths right before her feet.

Her delight had long turned into a grim sort of thrill, the exquisite excitement of a battle to the death she no longer thought she was winning.

The dragon's claws swiped toward her again, but it couldn't get at her from above. Still, it was hardly a victory, barely even a reprieve. Skir finally had to admit what she'd known for several exchanges now - the dragon was playing with her. It could have had her on the second pass - the first, even, if it had seriously tried. Instead it had exhausted her, while clearly not even a little bit tired itself.

"What do you want?" she called out from her insufficient shelter.

"What do _I_ want?" came the cool, mocking voice of the dragon from above. "You are the one who has stormed into her death."

She'd known it. "Well," she called back lightly, considering her options as her heart hammered in her throat, "I don't particularly want to die, you see."

"Well," the dragon again echoed her, sarcastically, "then you should not have come. No one would be able to tell by your actions, sword-woman."

Skir's options were decidedly limited. Only one last possibility she could see.

"I come for the princess's life," Skir said, steadfast, gripping her sword, waiting. For the dragon had only one avenue of attack, and she had only one avenue of defence.

She was ready.

"The princess's life," the dragon mocked again.

And then it swooped in below her, came at her - as it must - from the side of the abyss. Sending a prayer to the skies, Skir sliced her sword hard against the dried-up roots above her that were holding the overhang in place, then jumped out of the way, around the corner of the rock toward the hopefully steady hillside.

Just as she'd hoped, it all came down in a landslide, an avalanche - the overhang, half the slope, all the snow and ice on it pouring down like water onto the dragon hovering over the abyss until Skir couldn't see it any more, everything lost in the roiling slide.

Until nothing was left in the air, only snow and ice and rock below.

She breathed; she breathed again. She peeked into the abyss. No movement. Yes!

And then the newly deposited ice and debris shook, and the dragon came bursting out of it - straight into the air, straight at Skir, this time, no more playful swipes, no more sarcastic remarks.

Skir's heart skipped a beat. _Did I fancy myself Athe? I am not him. How he did it, I don't know._ She raised her sword. She knew it was over.

A moment later she found herself breathless, head ringing from slamming into the ground, a huge, furious dragon face above her and the dragon's claws poised right over her neck.

Her heart was pounding; her blood was hot in her veins; her skin felt raw. It had her.

Before she had time to pick a more coherent thought out of the jumble of her shaken brain, an icy growl sounded from the dragon's sharp-toothed snout, and she shuddered, the terrible thrill of it going through every sinew, every bone. This was defeat; this was death; now it would slice -

"Yield," the dragon demanded, its breath hot against Skir's face. _What?_

Her brain refused to comprehend the demand, which belonged onto the practice field, or perhaps in an honourable duel, not in a battle to the death between a dragon-beast and a knight. It made no sense.

"Yield," the dragon demanded again, harshly, "now." Its eyes were liquid ice, and Skir felt frozen to the core by their stare. The dragon's claw scraped against her throat, and she swallowed convulsively.

"I - I yield," she gasped.

"Surrender," the next demand came, just as cold. The claw still pressed against her skin, sharp and inescapable.

Was it not enough to yield? But of course it wasn't. The dragon was glorious. Against such an opponent, defeat was no shame. How could she not admit it? "I surrender."

The dragon's claw moved from her neck, and its head withdrew. "You are my prisoner," it growled. "Understood?"

Skir's thoughts cleared a little without the dragon so directly above her. A prisoner, to a dragon? Had she hit her head harder than she'd thought - was she hallucinating? Or did dragons not restrain themselves to the royal line - did they take other women, after all?

"Understood?" the dragon hissed again, its snout stretching forward again..

"I understand, beast," she said in the face of teeth and claws and the simple truth that there was nothing else she could do.

A harsh, purring growl came from the dragon's throat. "Then you are mine. If you defy me, you die. You're a stubborn one; I doubt you'll be alive by the end of the moon."

Skir shivered, heat flushing through her. What would the dragon do to her? What would it ask of her? She could face the challenge; she knew she could.

Then she swallowed. Whatever the dragon would do to her, it had no doubt done to the princess. The thought chilled her again. At least she would find out what had happened to Luin. Perhaps it was not too late to save her, even now.

"And if I am?" Skir asked. "I am not so easily killed." 

The dragon snorted at the blatantly untrue claim, a shockingly human sound from such a bestial creature. "You would be the first, sword-woman." 

And that was all it said. Skir's sword remained behind as the beast snatched her up and jumped into the air.

  


* * *

  


Rough claws had gripped Skir and dragged her through icy wind in dizzying movement. When the dragon finally threw her to the ground again, she felt frozen to the core, not a shred of warmth left in her.

But she had landed on bare earth, not on snow or ice, and that roused her enough to look up, blinking with wind-blind eyes.

There was snow and ice around, plenty enough, though the mouth of a cave opened clear of it. And as Skir turned around she saw a gentle slope beneath her, its snow cover peppered with strange bare spots, as if all the ice and the snow had been vanished away, leaving only barren, frozen earth, dry remnants of the summer's vegetation and frost-rimmed stone behind. What could cause such a thing?

The dragon was moving away from her into the snow. Should she try and make a run for it? The beast turned around, its ice-blue eyes spearing her, and she swallowed. There was no point. 

The dragon now stood on the snow, its neck stretched out, its wings spread. And then the snow began to melt.

No: not melt. Rise. All around the dragon, in a round patch, the snow and the ice rose into a swirl, a storm of white around the beast. Then it began to thin, and slowly vanish - and the beast changed as it happened. It grew smaller, and more slender, and less beastly, until finally there was no more snow or ice, and it stood there, its white scales covering a body not unlike a human's. Skir stared, unable to hide her gaping.

Dragon magic.

The dragon stalked forward, still as glorious, still as predatory, towards Skir. Skir flinched back. Beasts she could handle - this was something else. Her heart was racing. The dragon, almost carelessly, snatched her up with the same strength as before, never mind its now-smaller form, threw her over its shoulder and carried her into the cave.

Skir was staring at the white scales of the dragon's back. A clawed hand was digging into her thigh. Bizarrely, her wind-chilled body seemed to be thawing, her skin prickling with heat. 

It was actually warm inside, she finally noticed, with a pleasant rather than suffocating smell of wood smoke. Then she was thrown to the ground again; something slammed, and when she picked herself up she found herself in a sturdy wooden cage. Before her stretched an almost round cavern, warmed by a fire at the centre whose smoke drifted upwards to a natural vent. The walls were decorated with silver, and crystals shed a bluish light, bringing the cave to daylight brightness. Besides the entrance they had come in by, there was one other opening in the walls, leading deeper into the mountain. There were carpets on the floor, and cushions, and chests along the walls.

And on one such cushion, wrapped haphazardly in a blanket, more for comfort than for warmth, sat Princess Luin.

Skir drank in the sight of her while her fingers worked to undo the ties of her hood until she could push it back.

When Luin could make out Skir's face, the princess gasped and shot to her feet, letting the blanket slip to the ground. "Oh no," she said, sounding dismayed more than frightened. "Oh no, Lady Skir, it is you." Her hands clasped together in front of her chest for a brief moment; then she straightened in a display of self-control Skir had witnessed many times before. Her voice was calm when she added, "I am so very sorry, Skir."

Sorry? Skir didn't understand. "Princess?" she rasped. Luin did not respond.

Princess Luin's black hair had lost its usual elaborate hairdo, had instead been pulled back into a simple open ponytail, but she looked unbruised, unharmed, and there was none of the fear, the despair in her eyes that Skir had expected to see. Luin watched calmly, unafraid, as the dragon stalked from Skir's cage towards her.

It didn't touch her, merely looked at her, and after a moment Luin nodded and sat back down. The dragon dropped itself onto another cushion, then threw a glare toward Skir.

The princess sighed. "I suppose it was about time," she said, bizarrely. "I just wish it hadn't been her." What?

The dragon huffed.

"Myrndnir," Luin chided, almost gently, and she reached out toward the dragon, her hand almost caressing the scales of its shoulder. And again, what?

"Myrndnir?" Skir exclaimed from behind her bars, picking the simpler question out of the dizzying swirl of her incomprehension. "You give yourself the name of the dread dragon Myrndnir, that Sir Athe slew two hundred years ago? You will be slain just the same, beast."

The princess turned abruptly. "Stop threatening Myrndnir," she demanded, inexplicably. Ice seemed to touch Skir's spine at her tone. "She's not the one who will be slain, if there is to be slaying."

Was that a threat? It couldn't be. Princess Luin would not. But she had.

"What has the beast done to you, my princess?" Skir asked, appalled.

The dragon stretched back on its cushions, watching with sharp, predatory awareness.

"Done to me?" Luin tilted her head to the side. It seemed mocking, just as her words mimicked the dragon's mocking. "She has done nothing but bring me here. And," she corrected, "it's _she_. Not _it_."

It, she, he, what did it matter? "She stole you," Skir said harshly. "More than enough, princess."

The dragon scoffed. "Stole you too, sword-woman."

Princess Luin actually rolled her eyes. "And now my father has sent his knights to steal me back," she said with cool disdain, "unheeding of my own words. Yet I was not his treasure, to be stolen from him." She narrowed her eyes at Skir, who was trying and failing to make sense of any part of this. "Is that what I am to you?" she demanded, hard. "A treasure to be won."

Skir blinked, shook her head in confusion. Her body ached, and her heart ached, and she couldn't comprehend what she was hearing. "You were taken," she said blankly. What influence had the dragon on Luin, that she would defend the one who had stolen her, that she would be angry at her father for seeking her rescue?

"Did he promise you my hand in marriage?" Princess Luin asked, her face a mask that threatened to slide out of alignment.

Lady Skir bowed toward the bars of her cage. "I should be very sorry if the prospect does not please you," she said. She hadn't thought -

"The prospect is non-existent," Myrndnir said impatiently. "You shall not survive the week, sword-woman."

"You'll see," Skir said in grim determination. Luin needed her. And the dragon would not have the pleasure of seeing her fail.

The princess gripped the dragon's scaly arm. "Don't, please. This is painful enough as it is. Would that I could see another way." She looked down. "I'm sure it'll happen with or without your dire prophecies." And she threw a glare as icy as the dragon's, straight at Skir. "I shall go rest," she announced, then rose and walked out, unhindered by the dragon. Not toward the outside: further in.

Of course: where would she go in this icy wasteland? There was no one to turn to.

 _She would not stay even so,_ Skir thought. The princess she'd known would not be so friendly to her captor. The Luin she'd known would not give herself up. Not if the dragon hadn't done something to her.

"What did you do to her?" she demanded. "Why do you keep her? She will free herself of you eventually, you shall see."

The dragon turned towards her, lifted a lazy claw. "There is nothing to free herself from." She came to her feet in a fluid lizard movement, then stalked toward Skir's cage. "And you, stolen sword-woman, who is indeed captured: you shall _not_ free yourself," she said, her voice low and cold like a shiver of ice over Skir's skin. "Only in death, sword-woman, and in no other way."

That strange face, not human and not dragon, the bluish shades on the scales even deeper here in the blue crystal-light, stared at her hard, and Skir felt herself seen, to the core. 

Skir straightened her spine, refusing to back down.

Fierce and deadly, yes - a dragon, no matter its guise. _Her_ guise. Every inch of her was beautiful.

"Why do you call yourself Myrndnir?" Skir asked, desperate for distraction, desperate for something to say.

Myrndnir smiled, a wide lizard smile that showed sharp dragon teeth. "As it was my mother's name, and my grandmother's, and her grandmother's before, so it is mine."

"Sir Athe killed her," Skir reminded her harshly.

"Killed her," Myrndnir repeated, mocking. "He did not. Only in the story they told afterwards, he and Aen, since they could hardly have told the truth." The dragon's clawed hands reached through the bars, gripped Skir by the front of her jacket. Skir's skin tingled, and she gasped. "It will not happen that way this time," Myrndnir hissed.

Skir blinked, but could not blink away her confusion. She held still in the dragon's grasp, not knowing what else to do, until Myrndnir, with a huff, let her go.

They stared at each other for a long moment, the dragon threatening, Skir defiant and casting about for something to say, something to cut through the tension that was strung between them.

"I never heard of dragons taking a form like yours," Skir finally said. She wasn't going to call it human form. After all, it wasn't.

Myrndnir snorted, that almost-human sound the same as it had been in her other guise. "Down in the plains, in the warm lands? Where snow and ice come for a few weeks in winter, if that? What ice would a dragon draw on, to change her form?" She smirked, that too-wide dragon smile with her dangerous fangs on display. "And who, if they had wings, would forego them if the ice for regaining them wasn't certain?"

One last glare; then Mryndnir turned away and left through the same opening Princess Luin had gone through.

  


* * *

  


Skir slowly sat down on the ground. Her head ached, and for once since she'd started her climb into these mountains, not from the cold winds and the glare of the snow. This creature, this beast, this well-spoken dragon was nothing like what she'd expected. 

Grudgingly she allowed the thought she'd suppressed for hours now to rise to the surface: this was no beast.

Whatever Myrndnir's goals might be, whatever she wanted - from the princess; from Skir - if it were evil, it would be the evil men or women did. Not something simple and bestial.

It was, Skir thought, a rather more difficult enemy she'd found than the one she'd set out to defeat.

And Luin, the princess, the dragon's captive who spoke to Myrndnir as a friend, who touched her so kindly? Who was she? With a shiver of cold that came from inside, Skir admitted she didn't know.

  


* * *

  


The night passed quietly. The fire eventually burned down, but the lights did not dim, and the warmth did not fade. 

Lady Skir examined her cage, considered how she would escape, once she decided to. Not yet, of course - she'd surrendered, after all. And Princess Luin didn't look like she was ready to flee.

Skir curled up on the ground, and slept a restless sleep.

  


* * *

  


In the morning, Princess Luin returned. As Skir watched, pretending to be asleep, Luin stoked the fire, boiled water, made herself a drink. Skir's face flushed, watching her perform such menial tasks. It all would have been perfectly fine, as the morning routine of another woman - but Princess Luin was no ordinary woman. She should be in a palace, servants offering whatever she might request. At the very least, Skir should be doing this for her.

Yet Luin did not look unhappy, or humiliated. It confused Skir even more.

"Princess," she said quietly, sitting up.

Luin, for the first time that day, looked straight at her, rather than letting her eyes slide away every time they strayed in the direction of the cage.

"Lady Skir," she said, her voice entirely controlled. "I trust you have rested well." She poured another cup of the hot tea, stood up and came over, holding it out toward the bars.

Skir hesitated to take it, but she had seen the princess herself drink of it without apparent ill effect, and she was thirsty. She accepted it and noticed, once again surprised, that the steaming heat of the tea was welcome but not necessary: she was not cold, not even a little bit, even after a night asleep with the fire gone out. More dragon magic? The only chill she felt was her dread at what had happened to Luin. 

She thanked the princess, then steeled herself. "Are you well, princess? Have you been treated well? This is far from your palace."

"And a good thing that is, too!" Luin snapped. "I'm sure you wish you were there, but I, for one, am glad to be away from the lies."

"What has the dragon told you?" Skir demanded. "What lies are you speaking of? There is only your father, who is most grieved that you have been stolen, and waiting faithfully for your return."

Luin snorted. "Of course that is what he will claim."

"My princess," Skir implored, "if there is more, will you not say? What truth is there, that has been lied about?"

"What hasn't?" It was the dragon's voice.

The corners of Luin's mouth turned down. Her eyes were shrouded, unreadable. "Myrndnir, no, I won't tell her this. I don't wish to see her disbelieve me."

Skir's heart ached. Whatever the dragon had told her, Luin believed it utterly. "Please, princess," she asked. "Tell me. Do I not deserve the truth, I who have come for you here?" If she heard the story, perhaps she could refute it. Perhaps she could break the dragon's hold.

Luin looked down. Skir could see the moment she decided; she did not need the soft sigh or the nod to read her acquiescence.

But it was Myrndnir who spoke. "I took her away on my third visit," she said. "On the first, she believed not a word I told her." Her dragon-face seemed to soften, if scales could soften - it appeared smoother, less bristly, less aggressive. "On the second she knew the truth, and on the third she had made up her mind."

"How could I have believed it?" Luin said, looking between Myrndnir and Skir, her face tight. "I went straight to my father, of course." She threw a piercing look in Skir's direction, but not for her - for the king she served. "Imagine my surprise when my father told me it was true that our line was descended of dragons."

"What?" Skir's mind stalled. Had the king really - but he could not - but what if it was - no! It couldn't be.

Luin, descended of dragons? No!

"Every once in a while," Myrndnir said, her voice distant, "about once every generation, there is a one of that line where the old blood comes out. And when that happens, one of my family will come and speak with her."

"And once every generation," Luin said, her expression as closed as it had ever been, "the maiden who finds she is as much dragon as human must make a choice. To stay and pretend she is not what she is, or to go with the dragon who comes for her. For one reason or the other." That last came out very sharply.

"What do you mean - what reasons?" Skir asked, reeling. "Even if this were true, why would she go with a dragon?"

"If she wishes to know herself, she must," Myrndnir said. "And if she wishes to have a child, she must." A terrifying dragon smile, aimed at Luin. "And if she would be free, she must."

Luin smiled thinly and brushed a hand over her belly. Could she - but no. That made no sense.

"My father the king," Luin continued, "told me I must let the dragon take me and make me pregnant, for I would need an heir when I become queen. He, of course, would be sure to send his knights after me, and they would find me and slay the beast, so I might come home with no one the wiser. So our line could continue, as it had before."

What? "He said _what_?" Skir demanded indignantly, forgetting momentarily both her own doubts and the fact that she was talking about her king.

Luin merely nodded stiffly.

"It has gone that way, in some generations," Myrndnir said grimly. "Yet we never fail to come for our kin. A dragon never abandons her own, even if they betray us vilely."

"I wrote my father a letter," Luin said, "before I left, asking him to send no one. Would that he had listened."

"He saw the dragon take you," Skir said slowly, thinking hard. 

"He did not," Luin snapped. "He knew from my letter. I should have known he would not heed me."

"They never do," Myrndnir growled.

"Remember Athe and Aen," Luin said, holding out a hand toward the dragon in offering, then turning to Skir again. "Aen learned from Myrndnir - not her," she gestured toward the present dragon, "but her ancestor, and she became pregnant. When Athe came, she told him the truth. Old Myrndnir let them go, and they returned, claiming the dragon had been slain. It has not always ended in blood." Her face clouded. "Only in lies, and more lies."

"Yet that is not how things will go, this time," Myrndnir said harshly.

"No," said Luin, "it is not."

  


* * *

  


Skir was not alone with Princess Luin until much later in the day. It was for the best, probably. Her thoughts were running in circles. Luin, a dragon? It couldn't be.

"Can it really be?" Skir asked finally, sitting on the ground close to the bars of her cage, looking across at the princess who was again sitting by the fire. Luin had cooked a soup - _cooked_ , she, a princess - and brought Skir a bowl earlier. Skir had accepted it with a humiliated flush. Being served by a princess, when she should be the one serving? This wasn't right. But Luin had shown nothing but calm, as if she didn't even notice. "How can you be kin to a dragon, when I see you before me entirely human?"

Luin regarded her thoughtfully for a long moment, seeming to make up her mind. Her hand was tight around the corner of her blanket, but she gave away no other sign of tension. "Not entirely," she said finally, looking across at Skir in what seemed to be challenge. "There are scales in certain places, under my clothes. I was told it was a sickness, before." She shook her head briskly. "And Myrndnir has taught me some of her magic. I can touch the ice now, and draw on it. That is dragon magic, you know."

Skir looked at Luin, her human face and form, her dark hair, her quick eyes. Something inside her was pulling tight, and she wanted to shiver. A dragon, even if not a full one. Could it be true?

She'd always felt drawn by Princess Luin, had admired her, had been proud to serve her, to protect her. She'd known Luin saw more, knew more than most - and Skir, in turn, had known there was a fierce soul under Luin's controlled surface, a magnificent queen-to-be. 

A dragon. _Glorious and deadly._

"So it really is true," Skir whispered tonelessly, a chill gripping her heart. Of course Luin would not wish to return, not when her father wanted to slay one of her kin. 

_Kin._ Was that why Luin was so friendly with Myrndnir?

"And will you wish to slay me as well, now?" Luin's voice cut through her thoughts like glass, like ice.

Skir shivered. She should want to, shouldn't she? This was a dragon they were talking about. Beautiful but beastly. Yet hadn't she already decided Myrndnir was no beast?

And even so - whatever dragons in general might be, this was _Luin_. Skir knew her; there was nothing beastly about her.

"Never, my princess," she breathed. 

Princess Luin sat up straighter, surprise briefly flashing in her eyes. Skir had to swallow hard at the sight. Then Luin actually smiled at her, tiredly. "I might have liked the prospect of marrying you," she said drily, "would it not cost me my freedom, and Myrndnir her life."

  


* * *

  


On the third day of her captivity, when she saw Princess Luin's hand against her belly once again, Skir couldn't help it. "You can't be pregnant," she blurted out. "Myrndnir is female." 

The dragon sitting beside Luin laughed, a raspy, rattling sound that echoed through the cavern. "It doesn't work that way with dragons, sword-woman," she said, mocking. "We are all female."

And Luin looked across at her, her eyes a little sad. "I'm not," she said. "But I'm thinking about it. Not so soon, but one day."

And then the dragon's clawed hand was on Luin's belly, stroking her gently. "There's much time to decide," Myrndnir murmured quietly. "And you have much to learn yet, Luin."

"But how?" Skir exclaimed, uncomfortable with the display, and morbidly curious.

The dragon threw her a glare; then her attention was back on Luin. They'd drawn closer and were arm in arm now, holding each other, Myrndnir's hand still gently stroking over Luin's front. Skir's face was flushed, seeing it.

"Dragons lay eggs," Luin told her clinically, since Myrndnir wasn't answering. "But they give birth much like humans do. Of course I," she said with a wry, self-deprecating smile, "am not quite dragon enough to lay an egg myself."

Myrndnir snorted. "Half-breeds never are," she said, not unkindly. "But you _are_ dragon enough to make it grow. If you choose it, I will lay my egg inside you, and our daughter will grow in your belly."

"If I choose," Luin said, a little breathlessly. "That is not a choice I ever expected to have, you know. But yes. I want a daughter, one day." And she smiled, brilliant and bright, the way Skir had seen on her no more than perhaps twice, at Myrndnir, who held her tight and pressed their cheeks together.

Skir looked down at the ground, her heart beating too hard, her cheeks hot.

  


* * *

  


Skir didn't try to escape. Not that day, and not the next. She had too much to think about. Besides, if she did free herself, she would then have to decide what to do.

Kill the dragon, as she'd meant to? But that meant Luin now, too, didn't it? How could she slay the dragon, yet save Luin? She could not.

Dragons, the both of them. 

And Skir could no longer doubt it: Myrndnir had dragged her outside, had made her watch as Luin drew on the snow, as she performed a dragon's magic, spinning ice into a crystal much like the ones that lit the cave.

 _Dragon._ Skir wrapped her arms around her legs, trying to come to terms with the knowledge. 

No; she wouldn't slay Luin, and if not Luin, then not Myrndnir either. She couldn't. Perhaps she might simply leave, go back alone, as if she had never found the two? Lying to the king was a violation of her oath, even if the king was - as Princess Luin said - himself a liar. 

And she would have to leave Luin behind to do so, even if Myrndnir would let her. Even if Myrndnir didn't kill her to protect herself, to protect Luin.

No. She couldn't abandon the princess.

  


* * *

  


"I'm truly sorry," Luin told her again, one night. "You've been placed in a most impossible situation, Lady Skir."

Skir could hear the grief in Luin's voice, the sadness, yet also the determination. She swallowed. "Will Myrndnir kill me?" she asked bluntly. She couldn't see what else the dragon might do; she could hardly keep her in this cage for the rest of her life.

"I don't know," Luin said bleakly. 

"Why did she take me, then?" Skir asked bitterly. "She could have killed me in battle easily enough."

Luin smiled sadly. "She is not sure of me," she admitted. "She wished to give me an alternative. But you are not Athe, and I am not Aen, and I will not return in order to live a lie for the rest of my life."

"None could ask you to," Skir said, swallowing down the lump in her throat.

"My father did," Luin said sharply; then she sighed. "I'm very sorry."

"I will not fight her," Skir said impulsively. "For you, my princess. If my death can buy your freedom, so be it."

"No!" Luin's lip wobbled a little. "I don't want that," she whispered. "I don't, please know that."

"Princess," Skir whispered, "then what do we do?"

The princess hesitated, then reached a hand through the bars, cupping the side of Skir's face. "It grieves me, Skir," she said, just as quietly, "but there's not much we can do."

  


* * *

  


Luin handed her a goblet of water through the bars. Skir steeled herself and took it, still uncomfortable with the princess performing such tasks. She watched as Luin went to the fire and began to stoke it, and something inside her snapped.

"Princess," Skir said quietly, "please. You should not have to do such work. You should be served, as you deserve. This is not right."

Luin's eyes were on her, sharp. "I am a dragon," she said, her voice frosty. "Do dragons have servants?"

"Not usually," came Myrndnir's dry voice as she strolled in from the outside, brushing a few clinging snowflakes from her scales. "Though I don't see why we shouldn't, if it's your desire, my love."

The princess glared at the dragon. "I was not talking to you," she snapped, the first time Skir had heard her speak harshly to Myrndnir. "It was Skir's thoughts I was curious about."

Skir swallowed heavily, then went down on one knee. "My princess," she said hoarsely. "I am your servant. Please, if you would, allow me to serve you. Do not shame me by making me watch you do what I should."

Not that the tasks the princess had performed were a knight's, either. But Skir would serve Luin nonetheless.

Luin stared at her in open shock, her dark eyes wide. "Do you mean it? Skir - Lady Skir, knight of the realm, would you truly serve a dragon?"

"I would serve you, my princess." Skir forced a smile. "And as you keep reminding me, you _are_ a dragon. So yes, I would."

Myrndnir snorted. "Don't be taken in, Luin. She's merely trying to get out of that cage."

Skir flinched, and suddenly realised she'd entirely forgotten about that. It _had_ been a thought, a half-hearted one, the night before when she'd considered how she might convince the princess to let her out. But when she'd seen Luin before the fire, she'd simply spoken her heart.

Luin tilted her head, regarding Skir thoughtfully. "Maybe." She held out a hand to Myrndnir, who took it. "But she is a woman of honour, who would never break an oath. Will you swear, Lady Skir?"

Skir, still on her knee, nodded. Luin looked toward Myrndnir.

"She swore to your father first," Myrndnir reminded Luin, but Luin was not deterred.

"Tell me why you would not keep faith with the king," she demanded.

Skir, her gut churning, clenched her eyes tight. "Faith for faith, my oath was," she rasped. "He broke faith first, claiming you had been stolen. Sending me to slay your kin."

For a long moment, Myrndnir said nothing. Skir's heart hammered in her throat. "Very well," came the grudging decision, finally. She stalked toward the cage, the white dragon face unreadable but her ice-blue eyes fixed on Skir. "You are but human, and we are dragons. But if Luin will have you, then I will accept your oath." Then, slowly, she returned to Luin, cupped her face between clawed hands. "Luin, beloved," she said gently, her vicious claws combing through Luin's hair, "she is yours. May you be pleased with your pet."

Skir wanted to bristle at the word, and she thought Luin tensed briefly, too, but no, this was not the time. Myrndnir would not trust her oath if she antagonised her now.

It was Myrndnir who dictated the terms: to serve Luin faithfully, to obey her every word, to never leave the cave without permission, and to never raise her hand against any dragon, known to her or not.

That was a thought: more dragons? But of course there would be. Why had she ever thought there was only the one?

Her throat tight, eyes fixed on Luin's face, the tremulous gladness shivering just under Luin's calm mask, Skir spoke the words.

Myrndnir, grudgingly, opened the cage.

  


* * *

  


Skir's back hit the rocky wall as Myrndnir slammed her into it, clawed hand around Skir's throat, scales against her skin. Skir's heart was thundering. The dragon's strength, her fierceness - they were beautiful. 

"If you dare disappoint her," Myrndnir hissed, "I will slay you before her eyes." A moment later she had let go and was half-way toward the cavern exit already.

Skir slumped to the ground and watched after her, still feeling that hand at her throat, her chest impossibly tight. Thrilled by the challenge, by the threat.

She'd show the dragon. She'd show them both.

And if she did fail Luin? She might deserve whatever Myrndnir did to her, after all.

  


* * *

  


Skir was glad to no longer have to witness the princess performing menial tasks, and set to her duties with determination. Luin's eyes were warmer now when she looked at her, and Skir finally understood how terrified she must have been. A knight, come to slay a dragon: of course Luin had feared that Skir would turn against her, too.

"Princess," Skir said quietly one night, when they were alone, "is this truly where you would stay, in a cave far from any people, with no entertainment, no one to serve you but me, and only a dragon for company?"

"Yes," she said simply. "Since I cannot have both, I choose this." Luin, smiling, held out a hand. "Come on. Let me show you." And she led Skir deeper into the mountain. There were several caverns, some blocked with wooden doors, some open. The one Luin brought her to was large and filled with bookshelves.

"Dragon books," Luin told her. "So much to learn! I assure you, I'm not bored. And your service is more than enough." She lifted a hand, gently cupped Skir's face. Then she snorted a small laugh. "It _is_ a bit lonely, isn't it? But once I've learned more, Myrndnir has promised to introduce me to other dragons. So your loneliness will be larger than mine." Her thumb caressed Skir's cheek. "I truly am sorry for this, Lady Skir. It should not have been you."

Skir swallowed. "I do not regret it."

"You are faithful," Luin murmured. "I will not disappoint you, as my father has. I will be worthy of your faith."

"You _are_ ", Skir said helplessly, not knowing how to explain.

  


* * *

  


Skir stirred the stew she had made, then tasted it. She was becoming a better cook, she decided. What a bizarre ambition for a knight. Yet this was her life now.

The ingredients had come from yet another cave, filled to the brim with preserved food, dried or salted or frozen in ice. Where Myrndnir had taken it all, Skir didn't know.

She rose and went into the passage to find the princess and inform her the meal was ready, but after a few steps she froze. The sounds coming from behind one of the closed doors were unmistakable.

A purring chuckle; a woman's moan; the rustle of a mattress.

Face flushed, Skir made to turn around. A scream of pleasure pierced through the air. Luin's. Skir stopped.

Skin and insides burning, stomach clenched, Skir listened for another long moment before, forcefully, she tore herself away.

  


* * *

  


Skir knelt by the fire and poured another cup of tea for the princess, handing it over with a bow. 

"Thank you, Skir," Luin said, smiling at her. She took a sip, then set the cup down. "Come here, will you?"

Sitting side by side, feeling Luin's body close to hers, was delicious. She shouldn't be feeling this way, Skir knew. She had no right. But she couldn't help enjoying the thrill nonetheless.

It was the third day Luin had done this: lean against her as they sat by the fire, slowly reading through a dragon-book as she sipped her tea, occasionally exclaiming at some of the strange knowledge, sharing bits of dragon history with Skir.

Myrndnir had left to visit another dragon, and would not be back for another day. Skir wondered if it was a test, if she still thought Skir might try to escape, if she thought perhaps that Luin might go with her, or at the least let her go. 

But if so, Myrndnir was wrong.

When the cup was empty, Skir made to refill it, but Luin's hands stilled her. "Stay," she whispered. And then her hand was on Skir's chin, turning her towards her, and their lips brushed.

Skir flinched, tried to pull back. But Luin held her, and while she had not a full dragon's strength, still it was more than a human woman should have had. 

The princess's eyes had widened for an instant; now her face turned calm. "No?" she said, sounding distant. "Was I so very wrong about you, Lady Skir?"

Skir flushed. "No," she rasped. "No, not, wrong, but -" She cast about for the right words, but there was only one she could think of. "Myrndnir," she said helplessly.

Luin's eyes softened again, and she smiled. "It's all right," she whispered against Skir's mouth. "She gave you to me. Let me honour her gift."

Skir's heart felt like bursting. If Myrndnir slew her for this, it might be worth it.

They made love by the fire, first tentative, then with passion, and Skir could not get enough. There were scales on the insides of Luin's thighs. Skir mouthed at them, desperately thrilled.

 _Dragon._ She was making love to a dragon. She was making love to Luin.

  


* * *

  


"So," Myrndnir said, and then nothing more, as if that were enough to say. Perhaps it was. The dragon stood at the entrance to the cavern, her blue glare piercing. She'd come back early.

Skir had ripped herself away from Luin and was kneeling by the fire, naked and shivering, chilled to the bone. Not from the cold; from the ice in Myrndnir's eyes.

What was the dragon thinking? Remembering Athe and Aen, perhaps. Yet she was wrong. Luin's heart was Myrndnir's; Skir was sure.

Luin, just as naked, her dark hair flowing freely down her back, stood up and went to the dragon without hesitation. She wrapped her arms around Myrndnir and kissed the scales around her mouth. "Don't be cross," she whispered, pressing her skin against Myrndnir's white scales. Skir thought she saw the dragon twitch, reacting to her lover's closeness.

But Myrndnir's hands closed over Luin's shoulders and pushed her away. "I'm not cross," she said, the roughness of her voice making her a liar. "But I see you've had enough of the dragon-life. When will you leave?"

Luin flinched. "Are you sending me away?" she demanded, and her usual calmness had entirely deserted her now, something raw coming through instead. "Have I disappointed you so much? You gave her to me, Myrndnir - I value your gift, yes, and Lady Skir's service, but can you truly doubt how much I value _you_?"

"Do you?" Myrndnir rasped, and there was more of the dragon's ferocity in her tone now than ever before, all the mockery gone. "Do you, Luin? Even now?" And her icy eyes flickered toward Skir.

"Now, and always," Luin said. 

"Your pet," said Myrndnir, deliberately using the term she knew annoyed Luin as much as Skir, "has your affections."

"Not as you do," said Luin, as Skir had known she would. "She is not a dragon, and there are things she cannot understand. Yet she loves me all the same." She smiled, sadly, her head bowed a little. "Do you dislike her so much, beloved? If you truly wish it, we may find a way to send her away without killing. There is magic mentioned in your books that can take memories."

Skir gasped.

"Desert-magic," Myrndnir agreed. "It would be difficult to acquire, but we could."

"No!" It was Skir's exclamation, quick and thoughtless, and she didn't know who was more stunned by it, Myrndnir or herself.

The dragon's eyes were on Skir now, icy and considering. "No?" she repeated, apparently having regained the capacity for mockery. "Even if I do dislike you as much as Luin fears?"

Skir rose to her feet, brushing her red hair behind her shoulders, too aware of Myrndnir's eyes on her naked body. "Yes," she said, "for Luin, even if you do. Or else slay me, dragon, if you cannot bear my presence, but I shall not abandon my princess."

Luin's eyes shone. "She is true," she told Myrndnir. "Do you not see it?"

Myrndnir gave her a dragon's scowl, and a purring huff.

Skir's hands were clenched at her side. She swallowed down the lump in her throat, took a step toward the dragon. "I don't think you hate me, dragon," she said. "And as you insist on saying, I am human - I cannot be a rival to you. How can I prove myself to you?"

Myrndnir regarded her thoughtfully, but it was Luin who suddenly drew in a sharp breath. "Your oath," she exclaimed.

Skir blinked, confused, and Myrndnir demanded, "What of it?"

Luin, now calm again, smiled at her, then at Skir, sharing the smile between them. "Lady Skir swore herself to me," she explained. "If she swore to you as well, could you trust her? Could you trust this?" And she gestured around the cavern, encompassing all three of them, and their lives.

Skir's heartbeat was so heavy, rushing in her ears, she almost hadn't heard all the words. Swear herself to Myrndnir? But Luin looked at her with such clarity, such confidence, it was impossible to doubt her. If Luin wished it, she would.

And if Myrndnir would have her, she would.

Myrndnir stalked toward Skir, curling a claw under her chin. "You would do this," she asked, "swear yourself to the service of two dragons, over returning to the life you had? You could yet again be a knight, if you surrendered your memory of this place."

Skir swallowed harshly. "There is nothing here I would forget, my lady Dragon." She didn't flinch back as the clawed finger scraped down the side of her neck and toward her breast, drawing a circle around her nipple, not hard enough to break the skin. Skir shuddered. Behind Myrndnir's back, a smile ghosted over Luin's face, and a little of sliver of ice in Skir's chest melted.

Before her, the white-scaled face was tilted to the side, examining her with a dragon's smirk. "You like this," Mynrdnir said harshly. "Don't you?"

Unable to speak through her tightened throat, Skir managed a nod. 

Myrndnir spoke over her shoulder to Luin. "And would you share your pet with me, dearest?" Still using that term, still, perhaps, trying to provoke them. Skir held very still. 

Luin ignored it, too. "I would." There was tremulous joy in her voice.

"Not afraid of the touch of a dragon, are you?" Myrndnir mocked, cupping Skir's breasts in scaled hands, sharp-clawed thumbs pressing down on her nipples. Skir gasped.

Then, very deliberately, she looked over Myrndnir's shoulder toward Luin. "I've known the touch of a dragon," she said.

Abruptly Myrndnir let her go, and her face stretched into a terrifying dragon smile. "So you have, pet. And so you shall."

  


* * *

  


Luin at her back, Luin's breasts pressing against her, Luin's mouth on her neck. Myrndnir before her, claws digging into her hair, her other hand on her hips, a scaled knee pressing between her legs. Skir moaned. 

The dragon's rumbling chuckle vibrated through her as Myrndnir bent, licking along her neck, her fangs scraping the skin. Then Luin's hands were on her shoulders, pushing her down, and she went to her knees, swaying forward into Myrndnir as Myrndnir laughed. "Yes," the dragon rasped. "Like this, pet."

Myrndnir's scales tasted of snow and ice and earth, of winter. Skir mouthed between her legs, her inner thighs, seeking, unsure what she would find. Then the scales parted for her, and what burst on her tongue was burning, the hot prickles of warming skin. It stung, and her mouth was nearly numb with it, and it took her breath away. She licked deeper, sucked on the scales surrounding Myrndnir's slit, swaying with it, desperate for more. 

Suddenly something pressed between her own legs, inside. Skir gasped against Myrndnir, tried to thrust back. Fingers - Luin's fingers, yes -

Then, roughly, Myrndnir pulled her back by the hair. She looked up at the dragon, gasping, open-mouthed. The dragon was smiling, wide and dangerous and beautiful, and she wanted to say so, but she couldn't find the breath.

"Good girl," Myrndnir said judiciously, then lowered herself to the ground. 

Rug under her back, Luin's mouth on hers, tasting Myrndnir's juices from her, and now Myrndnir's hands were parting her thighs. 

"Hold her open," Myrndnir said to Luin, and Luin took over the hold, spreading Skir for her. Skir let out a long, drawn, out groan, her hips jerking upwards. 

Myrndnir chuckled. She held up a clawed hand for Skir to see, as if to say, _This is what's coming._ And then two fingers went between Skir's legs, parting her folds. Sliding along at first, then pressing down, and Skir couldn't help it, she bucked up against it. She could feel the claws pricking the sensitive skin. She'd never known anything like it, and she craved it like water, like air.

"Are you afraid?" the dragon demanded.

"No," Skir gasped, and, "Yes," and, "Please," and, "Anything," until finally Myrndnir indulged her, two clawed fingers sliding into her. Easily, too, as wet as she was, but she could feel it - could feel it all inside, the dragon's scales, standing up a little; the claws slowly, carefully scraping her inner walls. With a desperate cry she convulsed around Myrndnir's fingers, and came.

They gave her time to catch her breath before they rearranged her, turning her over. Myrndnir guided her mouth between Luin's legs, and Skir surged toward it, already knowing Luin's reactions, knowing how to pleasure her, what would make her shiver, what would make her insides clench, what would make her rock against Skir uncontrollably. It had been wonderful before. It was even better with Myrndnir behind her, Myrndnir's hands on her, Myrndnir's claws in impossible places.

This time, when she came apart, blackness rose before her eyes, and Skir collapsed.

  


* * *

  


The dragon and the dragon-princess, arm in arm, as they belonged. Skir took in the sight through her eyelashes, too worn to open her eyes all the way. It was right this way; she could not doubt it. Yet Myrndnir had also slung a possessive leg over Skir's hip, and the claws of one hand were curled loosely under Skir's throat. And Luin, wrapped around Myrndnir as she was, had one arm thrown over the dragon and Skir both, tight around Skir's chest, holding on.

Scales along her back; claws at her throat; human skin against her chest. She was not one of them, yet she was held. She was theirs. 

Skir smiled to herself. _In service to two dragons._ It was nothing like what she had expected to find at the end of her quest - it might not be marriage to a queen-to-be, but the queen would have had to be a liar. This was truth, and it was better. She felt warm, here with them, the frost driven from her bones. 

The dragon and her dragon-princess were worthy of her service, and she would prove herself worthy of them.


End file.
